Two Sides of the Same Coin
by rosieth
Summary: Set a few weeks after the Great Game. Mycroft confronts Jim about what happened at the swimming pool. This leads to a fight, followed by non-penetrative sexual activites. Slash. Crack!tastic. Rated M because i like to be safe. One-shot


_I am not ashamed to admit that I ship Mycroft/Moriarty even though it is completely crack. I think it is crack!tastic though. Maybe its just my love for Gatiss and Andrew coming out... Anyway, this is a one shot set a few weeks after The Great Game. There will be non-penetrative slash. Enjoy? Perhaps. (also, I will be updating Victory March very soon. The final chapter is waaay longer than I expected it would be, so I will split it into two and post the first part which is almost written.)_

Two men stood facing each other. Both had neatly combed dark hair. Both wore crisp, clean cut, expensive suits, with cuff links that matched their tie. One was taller, his suit lighter, his nose longer and a wore a snuggly fitting waist coat. The other was shorter, his posture less rigid, his stubble carefully sculpted and his shoes buffed to a lustrous shine. "Mycroft." The Irish voice was harsh and low, its usual light flamboyance gone. The dark eyes were wild, restless, and probing. They searched the other man's eyes for any trace of emotion. There was none to be found. Except for a slightly manic twinkle in the taller man's eyes that reflected the chaos deep within those of the other. "James." A frown, exaggerated for effect, crossed the shorter man's face. "No need to be so formal. You may call me Jim." The flamboyance that had been missing had returned, however heavily the sarcasm and anger was that dripped from the words. Mycroft nodded curtly in acknowledgment. "Jim."

The silence they lapsed into was different from before. This time, it was suffocating and thick, the tension almost visible to the two men, adversaries facing off against each other. A thick fog of silence, seemingly sucking all the air out of the room. Neither spoke, holding the others gaze as though secretly daring the other to break first. Break the silence, show their hand. The silence dragged on for minutes, the tension becoming heavier, denser until neither man could breath comfortably. Movement was minimal, there was no fidgeting or shuffling of feet. Finally, the weight of the silence was became too much to bear, and Mycroft felt compelled to speak. "You tried to kill my brother." It was a statement. There was no accusation to the tone of voice, just matter-of-fact. "It was nothing personal. I assure you." The response was eerily melodic, like it was being sung just a little bit off-key. Now there was anger in the taller man's eyes. "I take my brother's wellbeing very seriously, Jim." The name was overemphasised. "You threatened him. You have made it personal." The amusement was clear on the criminal's face. "It was just a game, Mycroft. A game that he chose to play. I did not suggest the meeting at the pool. Oh no! You're foolish little brother choose to do that all on his own." Mycroft's face did not change, but his grip on the handle of his black umbrella tightened. "A game? You consider bombs and snipers to be a game?" Once again, there was no anger in Mycroft's voice, just inquiry. "But we know that most of those dots weren't from gunsights, don't we Mycroft?" Jim withdrew a small laser pointer from his left pocket and began to wave it around the room. The tiny, red, point of light sweeping erratically about the walls, the ceiling, the floor, before finally coming to rest between Mycroft's eyes.

"The bomb was real though Jim. You know that as well as I do." Jim's lips curled up into a smirk. "Yes, I know that. As does DI Lestrade. Even more a fool than your brother. Rushing into a building that hasn't been cleared, only just vacated by multiple men who could have been armed. Knowing that he was chasing about after someone who used explosives. Is he still in the hospital?" There was a muscle twitching in Mycroft's right temple. "Yes. His sight has returned, the burnt arm is almost healed. He gets discharged tomorrow actually." Jim clapped his hands together, his face one of excitement. "Oh goody. See, no permanent harm done Mycroft! Dear Sherlock and his BFF Johnny boy are fine! DI Lestupid is all well again. So why are you here Mycroft? Please don't be obvious." His head tilted, almost canine-like, as he surveyed the reaction of his adversary. Mycroft's temper was no longer completely restrained and his infuriation was seeping through. "No permanent harm done? You have ordered the murder of dozens of people. You strap explosives to people. My brother and his colleagues could have been killed by your little boredom cures. You have done a great deal of harm James." Jim flinched, his face contorting into furious rage. "Jim. It is Jim."

The two glowered at each other, as though they might be able to kill the other with deathly enough glare. Suddenly, Jim was lunging towards the fireplace with feline agility. A blur of suit and tie until he straightened up clutching the iron poker, waving it menacingly in front of him. "You want harm? Come on Mycroft. Let's see how you can handle the umbrella of yours." The words were sung perfectly in tune in a high soprano. Mycroft's eyes narrowed as he firmly grasped the end of his umbrella. Twisting slightly, he unlocked the catch and withdrew the concealed sword from within. "I am impressed Mycroft. A swordbrolly? That is highly novel!" Mycroft casually tossed the remainder of the umbrella towards the wall, where it clattered across the concrete floor. Both men began to circle the other, almost predatory, brandishing their weapons aggressively. Jim was the first to make an offensive move, lunging with the sharp point of the poker aimed at Mycroft's thigh. It was deflected gracefully with a swish of the sword. Jim lunged again, this time aiming at Mycroft's chest. Mycroft found it more difficult to defend against, but still managed to block the attack with relative ease. Mycroft was scrutinising Jim carefully, trying to predict the next move. This time, instead of jabbing, Jim swung the poker like a baseball bat, a grating screech echoing across the room when metal hit metal. Mycroft knew he had the advantage as he was both taller and was wielding a lighter weapon. Jim seemed to have realised this, as his attempts to connect with Mycroft's head failed repeatedly. The shorter man's blows were becoming weaker and less frequent, whilst Mycroft's stamina was impeccable. Mycroft was grateful now for the fencing lessons his mother had forced him to take nearly two decades ago. It was that momentary lapse in concentration, that second of basking in the feeling of nearing victory, that cost Mycroft his advantage when he received a painful jab to the ankle. Mycroft could feel blood trickle down his ankle as his balance became dangerously off centre. Jim took full advantage of this, swinging hard at Mycroft's right arm, the force knocking his sword out of his hands. One final blow to the back of his right knee and Mycroft fell to the ground.

Thus, Mycroft found himself lying on the ground with his own sword pressed to his throat by Jim, who had discarded his unwieldy poker over near the abandoned umbrella. "I could kill you, right now. If I wanted to." It sounded to Mycroft like Jim was simply thinking out loud, rather than being threatening. Perhaps that was an odd thing to deduce, when even the more ignorant of observers would argue that a sharp implement held to the throat was threatening. Mycroft held himself still, feeling the weight of Jim's body pressing down against his. Jim's face was close, so close, lips were brushing softly past his cheek until they were next to Mycroft's ear. "I'm bored with killing. It's much to obvious. I have an idea that I think you would like much better." Clearly Jim hadn't been expecting an answer for before Mycroft could react the sword has been cast aside and surprisingly strong hands were pushing into his chest as Jim's lips met his own. Mycroft wasn't sure how to react, for he had not expected this to be anywhere close to how the confrontation would turn out. So he did the only thing that felt rational, which was to return the kiss. Mycroft moved his hands to grab at Jim's arms, whose response was to grip Mycroft's wrists and pin them beside his head. His right wrist was aching as Jim dug his fingernails painfully into the bruising skin. His ankle was throbbing still and Mycroft reminded himself that he would need to clean the wound to avoid getting an infection from whatever fireplace grime may have been left behind by the poker. Mycroft's mind went blank, almost unheard of, when Jim started to grind his pelvic bone against Mycroft's groin. It seemed crazy, that only minutes ago, he had been staring across the room at this man, willing to do everything in his power to make him hurt. It seemed absolutely insane that the man who was giving him so much pleasure had caused so much pain for so many others. Mycroft forced himself to banish all thoughts that weren't what Jim was doing right now from his mind. He could feel himself stirring, could feel Jim stirring, as the friction slowly started to increase. Mycroft began to grind back into Jim, as they both began to lose what little remained of their composure. Lips mashing desperately, backs arching in pleasure, still Jim was holding Mycroft's wrists firmly to the ground. Their pace was increasing, mirroring their arousal. Jim's lips left Mycroft's, as he slowly kissed his way down to Mycroft's neck before sucking and biting softly at the pale skin of the taller man's collar bone.

Mycroft could barely breathe, all he could focus on were the hips grinding, harder and faster. His final thought before he came was that he was going to ruin a perfectly good pair of trousers. Jim seemed to have no such concerns as he brought himself to climax. Jim slowly rolled off of Mycroft and onto the floor, where the two men lay side by side, panting heavily from the exertions. This wasn't supposed to happen, Mycroft thought to himself. He was supposed to come here and make this man suffer, show him what happened when someone happened upon the wrong side of Mycroft Holmes. How did he end up playing such dangerous games with a career criminal? Jim seemed to be reading his mind, seeing his confliction. "I told your brother I would burn the heart out of him. He believed I meant John. But why would I limit myself like that? How do you think he will react when he finds out what you and I have been up to Mycroft? What you just did with the man you know tried to kill him and his little lapdog only a few weeks ago? We are two sides of the same coin, you and I. We belong together. We have so much in common Mycroft. Sherlock hates us, but he needs us. You might like to play the protective older brother, but you are playing the same game as I am. Which one can outwit the other? You need me Mycroft. You want to need me."As he watched the self assured criminal pick himself up from the floor and stroll across the room to the door, Mycroft realised that he was right. "Catch me later." Jim sang as he exited the room. Mycroft shook his head, before he muttered aloud to himself. "I thought he didn't like obvious."


End file.
